


Star Wars: Acolyte

by kirabobeera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Die mad about it, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Jedi Apprentice - Freeform, Jedi Temple, Jedi Younglings - Freeform, Maybe - Freeform, Mind Manipulation, Original Star Wars, Other, Pre-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, References to the Jedi Council (Star Wars), Star Wars - Freeform, That is how the Force Works, Use of the Force, and i like dont care, and one other character from the original temple that i cant FUCKING remember, because im in charge here, before rogue one even, but not as far back as revan?? as far as i can remember, i decide what does and does not count, i will endeavor to get the timeline more obvious, jedi acolyte, jedi creche, jedi turning to sith, lmao all of my stuff revolves around ocs, ok so this follows one group of characters growing up, this takes place way way WAY in the past, will add him when i remember it later, yoda is there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirabobeera/pseuds/kirabobeera
Summary: Soroya Kanorée is four years old when she is brought to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. This is where her life begins. From history lessons with Master Bi-Oni-Kadi to meditative sessions in the gardens with Master Inh, Soroya is taught the ways of the Jedi and the Force. But the path of the Jedi is not an easy one to walk. From youth to adolescence, Soroya is faced with harsh truths and cold realities. Is this the path she's meant to take? Can she forge a connection to the Force? Where will her path lead?
Kudos: 3





	Star Wars: Acolyte

**Author's Note:**

> HI omg sorry I have no idea how to do tags for this lmao this is such a nightmare. ok—hi, welcome. this is an original star wars work. if that's not your thing, that's ok! but i think that the star wars universe is so big and there's so much room to put new material forth. especially after the disaster that was vii, viii, and ix!! yikes. so yeah. this is going to be a very long piece. starting with the mc (soroya) as a child and following her as she grows up in the temple. i kind of do not know where this story is going?? we'll see where it takes itself lmao. i'm just here to have a good time! and i hope you are too. enjoy!!

A G E F O U R

_ My earliest memory is of the Temple Créche… _

LIGHT FILTERS THROUGH the transparisteel skylight and illuminates the wide landing. The pillars supporting the upper levels glow in the afternoon sun that spreads warmth through the air. With huge, blinking eyes, Soroya looks around the landing. The sleeves of her tunic are too big and they slide over her hands. She takes quick, waddling steps to walk beside her escort.

Everything around her is so big and so bright. It is a world of its own, filled with light and soft, earthen colors. She watches everything, her mouth falling open. Long tapestries adorn the walls between columns, each depicting scenes of people and places she has never seen before. Windows line the upper floor, allowing more light to intrude upon the open space. She squints as she looks upwards at the painted ceiling, at the stars and planets drawn by artists.

Aside from her escort, Unara Mee, there are few people present in the hall. Those she sees do not pay her any mind, and they quickly pass like meteors. It seems to stretch forever, this hallway, and Soroya struggles to keep in stride with Unara. She watches the older woman’s swishing robes and takes care not to step on them. Unara wears a garb of humble grey and white, the same color as the hair pinned atop her head.

Soroya looks down at her own clothes, given to her by Unara, and runs her fingers along the stitches and seams. Cream and white, her own tunic and pants. A thin belt wraps around her midsection and keeps the folds of the tunic in place. She looks up just in time to stop herself from running face-first into Unara’s legs. She takes several steps back, fussing with the hem of her tunic and sliding her hands in and out of her sleeves.

Looking around Unara’s thin form, Soroya raises her eyes along the length of a pair of double-doors. They seem to almost reach the ceiling, forming an elegant archway framed by pillars. Like the rest of the landing, the doors are a warm terra-cotta and a gentle heat rises from them. Soroya looks from the doors to Unara, who does not return her gaze.

The click of a lock sounds and the doors swing outward, sending a slip of air drifting past. The ends of Unara’s skirts ruffle and Soroya pulls her arms tight around herself. She does not know where these doors lead to, does not know where she is. All the days are a blur, faces and voices bleeding together like spilled ink. Unara walks towards the open doors, head high and gait strong. She pauses after a moment, realizing that Soroya is not by her side, and turns, blue eyes crisp.

Soroya looks up at her, unsure whether to follow or flee. She looks down and pulls at the cuffs of her tunic. She does not move. Her skin prickles as she feels Unara’s cold gaze center on her. Once more she looks up to Unara.

Unara’s gaze softens and she holds out a thin hand towards Soroya. Instinctively, Soroya rushes to her, letting her small hand fit into Unara’s. Her tunic sleeve falls over her other hand and she feels small. Small in the vast hallway that brought her here, small in Unara’s grasp, small in the city of a planet she does not know. Together, they walk through the double doors into a circular room with a high, vaulted ceiling. This one is unadorned. Her eyes swivel and sweep around the rotunda, drinking in every detail.

Unara releases her hand as they stand at the center of the room. No tapestries or statues here, only real people, all of whom have their eyes on her. A semicircle of chairs faces them; each seat is occupied. Soroya feels small again, and though she wants to take Unara’s hand again, the older woman has hidden her hands in the drooping sleeves of her robes.

“Masters,” Unara greets, giving a slight bow. “May I present Soroya Kanorée of Stewjon.”

Recognizing her name, Soroya perks up slightly, looking up to Unara. Her face is unsmiling and Soroya looks away to the people seated in front of them. She attempts to copy Unara and slide her arms into her robes, but the tunic sleeves are not quite wide enough and she only succeeds in bunching up the fabric.

“A young spirit, she is.” This is not Unara’s voice and Soroya looks for its source. Directly in front of her sits a small, green figure. Long, pointed ears extend outwards and rise upwards as he continues talking. “Found her through the Force, did you?”

Unara shifts her feet and the fabric of her skirts swishes. “In a way, yes, Master Yoda. Though it may be more accurate to say that she found me.” This seems to interest the people in front of them; Master Yoda leans forwards in his seat, his hands wrapped around the knot of a cane. Unara exhales and drops a thin hand to gesture to Soroya. “As you know, I was accompanying an attach é to Stewjon. One morning, we were walking through an open market. I turned around, and I saw a young child looking back up at me. I could feel her energy as much as the heat of the sun on my skin.” Several of the people nod in understanding. “I returned to the village that night and spoke with her family. They told me of things they could not explain, phenomena that were unaccounted for. It was Soroya, of course. She is Force-sensitive.”

“Wise of you, to sense this. Celebrated, her arrival is. The Créche, she will be welcomed to, and a youngling, she will be.” Master Yoda nods and bows his head.

“Unara.” A new voice this time, from a woman to the far left. Her head is tall and bald, and she regards Soroya with bright, knowing eyes. “Good fortune greets you and Soroya. Take her to the Créche, and then resume your duties.”

Again, Unara slides her hands into her robes and bows. Soroya mimics her shallow bow and quickly follows after Unara’s retreating skirts. Voices murmur behind her as they leave, soft and gentle as a breeze. Soroya turns to look back into the round room as the double doors swing shut behind her. Through the closing gap, she sees Yoda’s bright green eyes watching her.

HALLWAYS AND STAIRWAYS bleed into one image as they walk. At last they come to a new set of doors, this pair much smaller than the arched double doors leading to the round room. Without knocking, Unara pushes the right-hand door open and steps in, holding it open for Soroya to walk in behind her.

They stand in a tiled entryway rimmed by columns supporting a high ceiling. Square windows line the upper walls and that familiar warmth fills the air. There is little time to see much else before Unara is marching onwards again, deeper into the room. There are hallways on either side of the room leading to more strange places she cannot see, and ahead lies another arched entryway. For a brief moment, they are shrouded in darkness before they emerge into a bright courtyard.

Transparisteel frames the entire area, forming the walls and the round, cylindrical ceiling. Durasteel beams line the clear windows, creating the image of a cage. Here the air feels heavy and warm, pressing close around all sides. Plants and flowers of all shapes and shades fills the space, and a musky-sweet scent fills the air. Voices and laughter reach them from just ahead and the sound of gurgling water adds to the harmony. Following a stone path, Unara leads their journey through the forest to the center of the courtyard. 

A tall fountain flowing with fresh water stands at the epicenter, depicting a robed figure raising a slim object skyward. The other hand holds books and scrolls to its chest. Water flows from the raised object in the figure’s fist, falling into a clear pool at the hem of the statue’s robes. Seated in front of the fountain is a cluster of children, their attention turned towards another robed figure, this one living.

A pair of curved montrals rise from her head and lekku frame her orange face. She moves her hands gracefully as she speaks to the children, smiling and laughing along with them. As Unara and Soroya approach, she pauses, bidding the children stay seated for a moment. She walks towards them, her face more serious.

“Master Naalosh.” Unara stows her hands and bows as she did before. Soroya does the same, and the hint of a smile returns to the Togrutan’s lips.

“Unara, returned from Stewjon, I see.”

“A necessary departure, but not unwelcome.” Unara gestures to Soroya. “She is to be taken into the Créche and trained as a youngling.”

Soroya looks between the two adults, then to the cluster of children in front of the fountain. Some of them are talking to each other, and some steal glances at her before quickly looking away. One girl, a Twi’lek, raises a small hand to wave at her. Soroya waves back and the girl giggles and looks away. Unaware of the conversation above her, she only notices a change when Unara bows again and turns to leave.

Out of the habit formed just over the past few days, Soroya turns to follow her.

“Wait, child. You are staying here.” The other woman, the Togrutan, kneels down in front of her and folds her hands in her lap.

Soroya looks desperately over her shoulder but Unara has already vanished from sight. Four days she spent at her heels, listening to her and watching her and waiting. Now she’s gone and Soroya cannot understand what has changed. Did she do something wrong? Tears start to gather in her eyes and she pulls at the hem of her tunic.

“There now,” Naalosh takes Soroya’s hands in her own. They are soft and warm, unlike the cold pallor of Unara’s bony fingers. “What is your name, child?”

“S’roya,” she sniffles.

“Soroya?”

She nods.

“That’s a beautiful name.” When Naalosh smiles, Soroya finds that she smiles too. “And a beautiful smile, too.” Naalosh tucks a strand of dark hair behind Soroya’s ear. “This is your home now, Soroya. Come, let’s meet the other children.”

THEY ARE FAST FRIENDS, the younglings in her clan. They number five in total and are not hesitant to share names and stories with Soroya. Kindest of all is Julla Seetini, the Twi’lek. They sit next to each other at meals and share a room in the Créche. She likes the others all, too, even the human boy who is too loud and much taller than she is.

His name is Jace Kalpora. Though human like Soroya, he is not from Stewjon. He boasts about his homeworld, Alderaan, though Soroya doubts he remembers much of it. After a few months, she can hardly remember her village or the rest of Stewjon. He is older than her, perhaps only by a year, but he seems to tower over her whenever they stand side by side.

Soroya hates feeling small, and Jace thinks himself a Besalisk.

They all sit together at one end of the dining table, clustered in their familiar group. Along the length of the table are other clans older than they are. Master Naalosh is present at most meals, and she sits at their end of the table, at the head. She does not speak often with them during meals, but is always quick to offer a correction or dole out swift criticism when needed. Soroya likes Master Naalosh: the way she carries herself, the way she speaks, even the way she laughs. She remembers Unara’s unsmiling visage and much prefers Naalosh’s orange-and-white grins.

At night, Coruscant’s sun dips below the horizon and fiery lights illuminate the cavernous halls of the Créche. Dinnertime is almost always spent basked in candlelight, which throws their shadows long and tall against the flat walls. Soroya watches their shadows dance and morph as they move. Watches them shrink as the light dies out and then grow again as new candles are lit. Once the second candles burn themselves out, Master Naalosh sends them off to bed and the clan dashes through the corridors back to their rooms.

Julla and Soroya run hand-in-hand. The first night, when Soroya doesn’t know where to go, Julla faithfully takes her hand and shows her the way. They haven’t let go since.

The door to their room slides shut and they are separated from the massive behemoth of the Jedi Temple. A single transparisteel window lets in dim moonlight. Their beds, thin and flat, are pushed against opposite walls. There is no decoration in their quarters, and no furniture save for their beds, a set of drawers for each of them, and a wash basin that they share.

Like everywhere else, Soroya feels small here too. The bed is too long, the walls too high, the window too big. An overwhelming sense of solitude washes over her and she pulls the thin quilt of her bed over her head. The sound of something scraping against the floor causes her to shove the fabric away. “Julla?” she whispers into the darkness.

“Help me push,” comes her whispered reply.

Soroya sits up and squints through the nighttime shadows. After a moment, she can make out Julla’s small form pushing against one of the legs of her bed. Smiling, she climbs out of bed and tiptoes across the room to help her friend. In a few minutes, they manage to push their beds together, their chests heaving with the effort. They climb under the covers and giggle, falling silent as footsteps echo past their door.

Julla takes her hand. “Are you sad?”

Soroya blinks at her. “No.”

“You feel sad.”

She frowns. “I feel sad?”

“I think so.”

Soroya shakes her head no against her pillow. “Not sad. Small.”

“Why?”

“Everything is so big, and I’m small.”

“You won’t be small forever.”

Soroya frowns again. Julla mimics her and Soroya laughs, squeezing her friend’s hand. “You’re right. I’ll be big one day. Big enough to kick Jace in his big Bantha butt.”

* * *

A G E S I X

SHE SITS WITH HER EYES CLOSED, listening to the sounds filling the air around her. The water bubbling in the fountain, the gentle swish of leaves, the trailing of robes on the stone floor. Her legs are tucked under her knees and her hands lie palm-upwards on her thighs. She hears the younglings of her clan breathing gently, inhaling and exhaling in sync.

She squints one eye open a slit, looking at the back of Khy Girr’s blue head. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the ends of his head tentacles swishing along his back. Next to Khy is Jace, his shoulders stiff and rigid, his back trembling with his effort to maintain perfect posture.

“Soroya.” She snaps her eye shut at Master Onawa Inh’s voice. Though her eyes are closed, she can feel the Jedi Knight standing in front of her. “Meditations are not meant to be spent peeking.” Soroya flinches as Master Onawa places her index finger to Soroya’s forehead. “With practice, you will be able to see with more than just your eyes. Rely on them too much, and you will become blind to the Force.”

She hears Jace snicker and her cheeks flush a bright red.

Onawa is quick to respond, “Jace, you are not focusing either. Your posture is too rigid, you are too present in your body to let your mind go.” Soroya allows herself a small smirk.

The silence resumed, Soroya begins to sink back into the thick curtain of meditation. Sounds fall away and the lights that dance behind her eyes begin to dim and soften. Darkness swallows her eyes and mind and she feels the pull of every inhale and the release of every exhale. Through the inky black, pinpricks of light begin to appear like stars. They stretch and pull, forming small streaks and lines across the blackness of her vision. Just as she thinks she sees shapes and figures, Master Onawa’s voice pulls her from her trance. Garbled at first, her words become clear as Soroya returns to wakefulness.

“. . . meditation is one of the greatest strengths a Jedi possesses. It will guide your actions, ground your body, and soothe your mind. It is a powerful tool that can be utilized in any situation. Even in battle, meditation can clear your mind and allow you to see as never before.” Master Onawa tucks her hands inside her sleeves and smiles down at the clan, all still kneeling before her. “I will expect you all back after Master Q’Lor’s lesson.”

The five younglings stand and give small bows. As the clan begins to depart, Soroya pauses. She turns back around and approaches Master Onawa, wringing her hands wringing. “Master,” she begins, and bows. “I’m sorry—” She hesitates, bites her lip. Words swim in her head and dance at the tip of her tongue but her mouth will not open.

Master Onawa looks down at her, face placid. Not angry, not upset, just blank. She never kneels when she speaks to the younglings, no matter their size. Soroya has to crane her neck upwards to look at her, and even still, she cannot quite see her eyes. Onawa holds her silence, waiting for Soroya to speak.

She knows that if she is quiet for much longer, her teeth will break the skin of her lip. Soroya holds her hands behind her back and squares her shoulders. “It was wrong of me to misbehave during meditation. I am sorry. It will not happen again.”

“It will happen again.” Master Onawa’s words are not sharp but they hurt like knives. Soroya flushes pink and casts her gaze to the floor, wedging between the cracks of the stone tiles. “Do not think that you are without fault. You are learning, Soroya, as are all your Créche-mates. Vital to your training is making mistakes and making them often. Our wisdom comes from acknowledging these faults and imperfections and making peace with them.”

Soroya nods and bows again. “Thank you, Master Onawa.” She turns to leave but stops. Slowly, she turns to look up at Onawa, brows pinched together. “Master, you mentioned that meditation can help us to see as never before. What does that mean?”

A twitch of a smile passes across Onawa’s lips. “It is seeing without seeing. A true connection to the Force. It is clarity and it is peace.”

AT LAST THEY ARE to begin lightsaber training with Master Yoda. Of all subjects, this one is the most anticipated. Since the beginning of their training as younglings, they have been familiar with Master Onawa’s meditation sessions and Master Bi-Oni-Kadi’s history lectures. Two years they waited to train with Master Yoda and learn from him. The air is electric with potential as the clan gathers in a round training room.

They sit side by side in line, nearly touching shoulders. Soroya is nested between Julla on the left and Xylas Borra on the right. She rubs a finger along the inseam of her pants, endeavoring to sit as still as possible. Already her ankles are sore and her knees tingle from sitting on her legs for so long. Jace makes popping noises with his mouth and Soroya makes a face and looks at the floor. Jace continues for several moments longer and just as she’s ready to snap at him, the autodoor hisses open and Master Yoda pads neatly into the room, humming softly.

The clan stands and bows to him, greeting in unison, “Good morning, Master Yoda.”

“Indeed, a good morning it is, hm.” His ears perk up and he rests his hands over the gnarled head of his cane. He hardly ever uses it when he walks, and Soroya wonders what it is really for. “Lightsaber training you will start today.” Clipped to his belt is his own shoto lightsaber, the silver hilt glinting in the light. Her eyes are drawn to it, only taken away when Master Yoda continues, “Not to be misunderstood, this training is. Peacekeepers, the Jedi are.”

He walks the length of the line up and down, sparing them each a few glances with a knowing smile. Yoda continues to hum and titter, the only sound filling the room. In a single leap, he clears the four steps to a raised dais at the front of the room. He clicks his cane on the ground thrice to center their attention. “More than power and strength, wielding a lightsaber takes. Be at peace both inside and out, a Jedi must. Trust the Force, and trust you, it shall.”

With a simple gesture, a panel on the wall slides open to reveal a rack of training gi. Wide visor-masks rest on pegs alongside training sabers; Yoda instructs them to take one each. Jace is first to dash to the gear, wresting a visor and saber from their pegs and resuming his place in line. Once they retrieve their gear, Yoda gives an approving nod and tells them to put on their visors.

“Master, I cannot see.” Soroya hears Xylas speak but his voice is muffled by the rim of her own helmet. He does not sound afraid, but confused.

“Mm, deceive you, your eyes can. Feel the energy of the universe.” Yoda sighs and Soroya imagines him closing his eyes. “Let it flow through and around you. Feel it.”

Soroya grips the hilt of her training saber tight, the rivets and grooves drawing notches into her skin. With the imposed darkness of the visor-helm, she chooses to close her eyes. She draws her breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, remembering Master Onawa’s words from months ago.  _ See as never before. . . It is seeing without seeing _ .

With Yoda’s permission, they activate their sabers, the light hum filling the room. It is not the true and thrumming buzz of a Jedi’s saber; rather, it is subdued and gentle. Tingles flee up her arm and across her shoulder and Soroya shivers. The hilt rests heavy in her hand and she wonders if she can even raise it upwards.

Yoda adjusts Soroya’s grip on the training saber, giving a cheerful hum when satisfied. Yoda instructs them in elementary basics with their eyes shielded. Sweat coats the palm of Soroya’s hand and she flexes her fingers around the hilt. Her hands are still small; it takes both hands to wield the saber, though it is still smaller than a Knight’s lightsaber.

Up, down, left, right. Block, parry, counter. Each basic move Yoda teaches them. They do not dwell on any one for too long before Yoda shifts their focus. Her mind buzzes with the feel of each stroke, attempting to commit each one to memory. He regains their attention by tapping his cane on the floor. They pull their visors off, faces flushed and sweaty. Jace’s hair stands on end and Soroya stifles a laugh, forcefully biting her lip.

When their gear is returned to its rightful place, Yoda titters. “Done well today, you have. Only the beginning, this is. Still learning to this day, Jedi Knights are.” His ears dip as he bows to them and the younglings return the custom.

Soroya looks out the tall, thin windows at the bustling Coruscanti cityscape. Night already creeps across the sky, darkening the orange-yellow horizon. Swoops and shuttles crowd the air lanes, blinking like stars in between buildings and towers. She closes her eyes, imagining the vehicles like meteors passing through the planets of the urban skyline. A tug at her hand pulls her back to the Temple.

“We’ll be late for dinner,” Julla informs her, hand still on Soroya’s wrist.

She looks past Julla at the empty room behind her. Jace, Khy, and Xylas have all vanished. How long has she been standing at the window? Soroya nods and pulls a smile. “Right.”

SOROYA HISSES as a bolt hits her arm. It stings even through the fabric of her tunic and she rights the training saber upwards. The visor-helm resting firm atop her head, she is blind to everything around her, including the Marksman-H combat remote. Even on its lowest setting, the remote is effective; the hit itches and burns like a Trikkart’s pinching bite.

She breathes deeply, attempting to sense when the next bolt will fire. The helm sits over her ears, muffling the sound of the droid as it bobs around her. Visor over her eyes, pads over her ears: both mute her senses and enable her to give herself up to the flow of the Force, to feel the droid’s movements and anticipate the shots before they come.

Though she cannot see them, she can sense the tingling presence of her clanmates around her. Even Master Yoda’s presence is palpable, smooth like running water but with the underlying force of a current.

Gritting her teeth, she swings the blade back and forth, managing to block a bolt by chance. She feels the impact with the saber’s blade, and it runs up her arm. It thrums like a chord, strong and reverberating. Soroya loves the feeling, relishes in it. If only she could block and counter with greater accuracy.

At the end of their session, Master Yoda sits on the top stair to the dais, his hands clasped over the top of his cane. He nods to each youngling as they leave, a small smile on his lips. Julla waits at the door for Soroya, but she gently waves her off, promising to meet with her in the dining hall shortly.

She approaches Master Yoda and bows to him.

He looks up at her, eyes bright. “Young Soroya Kanorée, a question for me, you have.”

“Yes, Master.” She hesitates and bites her lip.

“Speak, young one. Silent questions return silent answers, ones that cannot be heard.” He laughs to himself at his joke, and Soroya smiles despite her trepidation.

“Master, I cannot feel the Force.”

His expression turns serious and the tips of his ears droop slightly. “Hm. Sit, young one. Tell me more you will.”

She sits below the stair, legs crossed in front of her. Resting her hands on her knees, she scratches at the fabric of her pants and attempts to gather the right words to express her feelings. “I feel numb. Like there is something there, but I can’t feel it.” Master Yoda watches her thoughtfully. “Is that bad?”

“Still young, you are. Have much to learn, you do. Hm.” He considers for a moment, briefly closing his eyes. “What is the Force to you, hm? Physical it may feel, but physical it is not.”

Soroya grasps at the hem of her tunic. “Master Onawa says that the Force is everywhere. That it is in and around us all. If that is true, why can’t I feel it? If it is in me, shouldn’t I recognize it?”

Master Yoda opens his eyes and regards her, smiling. “Ah, yes. Everywhere, the Force is. Through, in, and around the universe. In you, in Master Onawa, even in Tatooine sand rats.” He laughs again, though Soroya does not understand his humor. He curls his hand over his cane and looks at her closely. “Young one, what happens to shadows when the sun rises?”

“They disappear.”

“Hm. And to birds when chased?”

“They fly away.”

He nods sagely. “Chasing shadows with light, brings more shadows it does not. To be covered in darkness, wait for nighttime we must. A pool of water, the Force is not. One cannot plunge into it so easily. Wait, listen,  _ feel _ . Then to you, the Force will appear.”

Soroya considers this for a long, quiet moment. Patience, that is what Master Yoda is telling her. That blindly groping for the Force only pushes it farther away. That to truly feel it is to let it overwhelm the self when it’s least expected. At least, that’s what she thinks he is trying to say. “Others are better. Why did they not have to wait so long?”

“Easy for some, swimming is. The Nautolans, the Mon Calamari, the Gungans. Not so easy for others.” Master Yoda titters to himself and stands and Soroya rises too. “Think too much, you do. Worry not for the future, young one. Come, it will. Rise to meet it, you must.”

MASTER BI-ONI-KADI stands in front of a holoprojector showing a slew of ancient Jedi texts, all preserved in the digital archives. She indicates this way and that, pointing to various translations and tablets and explaining the ancient history of the Jedi Order in a clear, level voice.

Soroya stands alongside her clanmates, her hands clasped behind her back. She watches Bi-Oni-Kadi as the master walks paths into the tile floor, hardly able to stand still as she regales them with ancient rites and trials. At the mention of the Gathering, Soroya straightens, craning her head to look at the holo-blue image of a stone tablet conjured on the holoprojector.

“The Gathering is one of the most ancient rites of the Order. It is undertaken by all initiates as they progress towards becoming a padawan.” The holoprojector shimmers and a new image appears, a planet, artificially darkened by the projector. “The Gathering takes place on Ilum, a planet in the Unknown Regions. On Ilum, there are the Crystal Caves, a sacred location for the Jedi. The caves are some of the only known locations where kyber crystals can be found.”

Soroya’s skin prickles at the word  _ kyber _ . Master Onawa mentioned the crystals in passing during one of their sessions but had never returned to it. Master Yoda taught them that the inner workings of a Jedi’s lightsaber depended on a kyber crystal to function. Every utterance of the word sent Soroya’s skin alight with tingles. There was power in the name and in the thing itself, and she desperately wanted to see one.

“Each crystal is unique to the Jedi who wields it. No two are alike in any way other than color. Many kyber crystals retain a blue or green hue. Other shades are possible, but rarely seen. The kyber resonates with a Force-user’s energy. The two are harmonious and unified.” Master Bi-Oni-Kadi passes a sweeping gaze over the younglings, face impassive. “The Gathering is completed once a kyber crystal is found.”

Silence rings through the room, and Jace is the first to break it. “Has anyone ever not found a crystal?”

Bi-Oni-Kadi’s eyes darken slightly, shadowed by the question. She clasps her hands together and crosses to stand in front of them, mouth drawn tight. “Though rare, it has been known for some to journey into the caves and never return.” Soroya sucks in a sharp breath. Her peers are solid beside her, as though they are afraid to move. “But,” Master Bi-Oni-Kadi sighs, “that is a topic for another day. You are all dismissed.” She bows to them and they bow back.

Soroya’s back stiffens as she folds at the waist, hands trembling at her sides. A connection with the Force means a connection to a kyber crystal. She bites her lip. If she cannot somehow make that connection, then surely she is doomed. A hand slides into hers and she jumps.

“Sorry,” Julla apologizes. She always does, for any little thing. Seeing Soroya’s face, she frowns. “What’s wrong? You look scared.”

Confronted with Julla’s empathy, Soroya feels tears beginning to sting at the corners of her eyes. She bolts from the room, pushing past Khy and Jace and fleeing down the corridor. Her footsteps echo off of pillars and columns and she ducks into a small alcove, crouching there. She tucks her head between her knees, breaths heavy and fast.

Soon, she hears more footsteps and she stills, hoping that she might turn invisible. “Soroya.” Julla’s voice hits her like a weight. “What’s wrong?” She kneels down in front of her friend, mimicking her crouched posture.

Not raising her head, Soroya lets words rattle out of her mouth: “What if I can’t find it?”

“Find what?”

“A crystal.” She rubs furiously at her eyes, the cuffs of her tunic darkening with tears. “What do I do if I can’t find it?”

Julla tilts her head to one side. “Maybe they’ll give you a crystal.”

Soroya shakes her head. “No. Master Bi-Oni-Kadi said that the crystal connects with the person. I have to get it for myself.”

“You’ll find it,” Julla assures her. She holds her hand out and looks expectantly at Soroya. Still trembling, Soroya takes her offered hand and manages a weak, lip-wobbling smile. “I know you will.”

* * *

A G E E I G H T

THOUGH SHE STANDS in the meditation gardens, meditate she cannot. Soroya lets her eyes slowly slide open, squinting against the bright midday sun. She lets her hands fall from behind her back, sore from holding them there for so long. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck; somehow she finds that she is sore all over.

She chooses to blame it on Master Tarre’s rigorous training. The clan only began their combat training with him four moons ago, and he was relentless from the start. Drills, spars, and duels fill the hours of their sessions with him, leaving all of the younglings panting at the end. Even Jace is too tired to talk afterwards.

Soroya rolls her neck to either side, sighing as she hears popping and cracking. She stretches her shoulders and exhales as tension continues to drop away. Placing her hands on her hips, she surveys the gardens around her. She likes a secluded area towards the far end of the garden, in a corner framed by the transparisteel windows looking over the Coruscanti cityscape.

It’s easy to forget that the Temple is not its own planet. Rarely do they ever leave the Temple, and when they do, they venture no farther than the Federal District. Visits to the district are under the strict guidance of Master Yeren Q’Lor, who takes them to the Galactic Senate to instruct the clan on politics, government, and public policy. Though far from interesting, it’s an escape from the seemingly planet-size vastness of the Temple.

She watches the lanes of air traffic through the spires and towers of Coruscant, trundling like insects along invisible lines. Nightfall is still a long ways off, yet the city still glows with light. The sun reflects off of the transparisteel and durasteel structures, bathing Coruscant in an artificial, metallic shine.

Once more, she closes her eyes. She sets her legs shoulder width apart and clasps her hands behind her back. Though her shoulders ache in protest, she holds the form and attempts to keep from shaking. Master Onawa frequently reminds them that it is important to know how to meditate in any situation and stance, even upside down. That note had elicited a laugh from Jace and a stern look from Master Onawa.

Still, the cool slip of meditation eludes her. She opts to stand still as a statue and rest as best she can, letting her senses flood her. First comes the errant hum of the fans, cycling the air slowly through the greenhouse courtyard. Then the strong scent of greenery and life, the warm smell of dirt and sweet scent of a dozen alien flowers. Hot air fills her lungs and rests heavy on her tongue, anchoring her to the ground. She feels it on her skin, too, damp and weighty.

Each sensation wraps around her, blanketing her with physical sensations. The longer she stands, the stronger each becomes. The air becomes oppressive and stifling; the smells are pungent; the ambient noise grows in volume. Just as it all threatens to burst around her—it stops.

Everything falls away like dust blown in the wind. A physical silence encapsulates her, warding off all else that symbolizes the material world around her. The weight of the humid air disappears, replaced instead with the feather’s weight of a chill. Darkness, more stark than just the darkness of her closed eyes, fills her vision. It sweeps away all traces of the afternoon light and cloaks her in a depth greater than nighttime, a void.

Through this, pinpricks begin to dance in her vision. A breath she cannot feel catches in her throat. Memories of these same images sprout in her mind. She has seen them before, but not in so many months. The pinpricks lengthen and grow in intensity. They dance and swirl, beginning to form the outlines of images, just barely recognizable.

“Soroya.” A hand touches her shoulder.

The image shatters. Her senses come flooding back to her in a rush, slamming into her with the force of a stampeding Bantha. She clutches at her chest, gasping for breath. Sweat dampens her forehead and she wipes it away with the sleeve of her tunic, still working to compose herself. She pushes anger out of her mind; she recognizes the voice. “Julla.” She turns to look at her friend, already growing taller than she is.

Julla smiles, green cheeks dimpling. “Master Naalosh sent me to find you.”

Soroya’s heart skips a beat. She has not seen her in months; duty called her, and several other Jedi Knights, away unexpectedly. And it has been many months more since Master Naalosh served as the caretaker of their clan; already two more clans had passed through Naalosh’s gentle care. “She’s here?”

Julla nods, sharing in Soroya’s excitement. “I can wait, if you want to continue meditating.”

She shakes her head. Thoughts of meditation fled the moment she was pulled from its inky depths, and with news of Naalosh’s return, she finds no desire to continue the practice. “No. Let’s go.”

The pair dart through the twists and turns of the meditation gardens, ducking under low-hanging branches, avoiding sticky buds, and hopping over trailing vines. They slow to a purposeful walk as they pass Masters Yoda and Tarre, the latter of whom shoots them a cutting look. Soroya feels her skin prickle under his gaze and quickly looks away, gripping Julla’s hand tight.

As soon as their Masters are out of sight, they pick up their feet once more and keep running through the halls. They approach the council room, and the familiar shape of Master Naalosh’s montrals pokes into view. Soroya’s heart clenches in her chest and she drops Julla’s hand and sprints the rest of the way. She slides to a halt in front of Master Naalosh and bows deeply. Seeing Master Thinu Nandi at her side, Soroya feels her cheeks flush and she bows again, offering a heavy apology.

“No apologies are necessary, young one.” Master Nandi bows to both Master Naalosh and Soroya, and then Julla as she approaches. “Be well, Master Naalosh.” She nods to Soroya and Julla and then glides down the hall, hands tucked into the folds of her robes.

“Master Naalosh,” Soroya says breathlessly, smiling for what feels like the first time in months. She bows again with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robes as a sign of respect. “It is so good to have you returned to the Temple.” Julla offers similar supplications and Naalosh laughs; not to mock them, but in love for them.

“You have both grown so much since I have last laid eyes on you.” The white markings around her eyes and across her cheeks are bright in the midday light. She holds a hand out to each of them and each takes it, calmed yet thrilled by her presence. “How are your lessons? Surely you are both acceling.”

Soroya holds her chin high, ready to lay down every small accomplishment just to hear praise from Naalosh. Yet she finds herself holding her tongue. Against the brilliance of Naalosh’s Jedi accolade, all else seems insignificant. She longs for the day when she, too, can call herself a Jedi Knight. “We do as the Masters bid us,” she says humbly, looking sidelong at Julla.

“Master Onawa says that I have the makings of an empath,” Julla admits, cheeks flushing a mossy green. “Though only time will tell whether that prediction holds true.”

Naalosh squeezes her hand, “I’m sure it will come to fruition. And what of you, young Soroya?”

Soroya swallows uneasily. Truthfully, she has not excelled in any subject. Cor is best at politics and government and is constantly in Master Q’Lor’s high praises; Jace has earned Master Tarre’s mute praise for excelling at combat; Master Onawa constantly uses Julla as an example for their meditative lessons; and Khy earns Master Bi-Oni-Kadi’s appraisal as a learned historian. She bites her lip and says, “I have yet to find my calling.”

“All Jedi find their way in due time,” Naalosh reassures her. She smiles, her eyes so bright and so genuine that Soroya suddenly wants to cry. “It is simply not your time yet, young one. But it will come.” Soroya sucks in a shaky breath. More than anything, she wants to make Master Naalosh proud. A sudden, overwhelming desire crashes over her.

She wants to be apprenticed to Master Naalosh.

THE TRAINING STAFF collides with her shoulder and she gives a yelp. She resumes her stance, shoulder screaming in protest as she raises the staff towards her opponent. Khy Girr twirls his staff and mirrors her stance. The prickle of Master Tarre’s gaze lights across the back of her neck and her grip tightens around the staff. In a confident stroke, she brings the staff around to land a hit to Khy’s side, but he moves his own staff close to block the hit.

Their staffs collide with a wooden clack and the impact sends vibrations up her arm. She steels her jaw and moves away, again raising her staff to a neutral position. Khy moves first this time. He jabs his staff towards her once, twice, three times in quick succession. She blocks the first two, but the third hits her square in the chest and she falls backwards.

Khy brings his staff upwards, tucking it under his arm. He bows to her before walking up to her and holding his hand out to help her up. He smiles, offering short praise about her counters.

As she reaches to take his hand, a wooden staff lies across Khy’s hand and pushes it down. Soroya looks up into the piercing blue eyes of Master Tarre. She hardens her jaw and meets his gaze. He holds the staff upright beside him, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Disappointment or perhaps anger; she cannot tell. “In combat,” he begins, voice sharp so as to command the attention of the other younglings, “your enemies will not help you once you have fallen. They will offer no hand to you to help you to your feet.” He brings the staff up and around and points it towards Soroya’s face. “Instead, you must stand on your own.”

Soroya, sitting up on her elbows, stares down the shaft of the yukarwood staff. She moves to roll onto her side, but Master Tarre presses his staff to the mat next to her, blocking her from moving. She tries the other side with the same result. Of course he will make it difficult. She swallows, hand resting over the middle of her own staff.

Master Onawa’s words echo through her head. “ _ Jedi are able to meditate even in the midst of battle. The Force lends clarity and strength which can be used to counter almost any opponent _ .” Though meditation has become easier, she is without time to sink into the comfort of the Force. Her grip tightens around her staff and she brings it up in one swift stroke to disarm Master Tarre.

He deflects her strike and lands a hit on the back of her wrist. She shouts and drops her staff, clutching her hand to her chest. Master Tarre spares no pity for her and aims the staff back towards her again. He inclines his head, silent instruction for her to try again.

Shoulder aching, back throbbing, and wrist stinging, she clenches her jaw tight. Weaponless and weakened, she stares up at her teacher, the blue seas of his eyes crashing against the brown earth of her own. She knows two options are set before her: attack or defend. Either she can attempt a direct attack or she can maneuver herself out from under his pinning staff and regain her footing. She licks her lips, weighing both options. Neither seems likely to end in success.

Master Tarre is unrelenting and he takes a step closer, bringing the staff just under her chin. Her heart thunders in her chest now. Surely Master Tarre can sense her anxiety, and if he can’t, Julla certainly can. She flicks her gaze sideways to her friend. Julla and all the younglings of their clan are watching her.

A third option blossoms at the front of her mind. She looks down at the staff in front of her, easily within reach. Soroya measures the length of the staff; it is slightly longer than the ones Tarre gave the younglings, but it is made of the same wood. She remembers from one of their first days training that the wood is strong when balanced, but can break if weight is unevenly distributed across it.

Hardly thinking, she grabs the staff. She aims a swift kick at the center of the staff and snaps in half. Now that the tension is released, Master Tarre takes a half step backwards to steady himself. Soroya uses this moment to jump back to her feet, wiedling half of the staff she claimed from Master Tarre. Pleased with her resourcefulness, she smiles across the mat at him. He does not smile back.

Master Tarre looks down at the broken staff, expressionless. He twirls the half staff and holds the piece behind his back. He gives the smallest of bows, barely bending his torso. “An unconventional yet effective maneuver, Soroya. Though in the time it took you to make that decision, your life would be forfeit.” Her smile and heart drop in an instant. His eyes sweep over their group and he gives another small bow. “You are all dismissed.”

Thankful that the session is over, Soroya retrieves her staff from the floor. As she makes to leave the sparring room with Julla, Master Tarre calls her over. A brief spark of hope lights across her and she crosses the room to him. She bows and rights herself, awaiting his praise. It doesn’t come.

“As fortunate as we are to have staffs to train with, we are not unlimited in their supply.” His words douse her hopeful spark in a second. “You will carve a new staff, by hand, and bring it to me once it is finished.”

“Yes, Master Tarre.” She bows again.

“You may go.”

“Thank you, Master Tarre.” Anger and frustration bubble in her chest and she turns low so that he cannot see her expression. She walks, with fists balled at her sides, from the sparring room to Julla waiting for her outside. Once she they are far away from the sparring room, she shakes her fists and hisses through her teeth. “I cannot stand him!” she laments, shoulders trembling with emotion. “He’s aggressive, mean, and a bully.”

Julla is quiet beside her as they walk. Julla would never chastise her as Cor would for speaking ill of one of their Masters, or mock her as Jace would. Instead she listens and redirects her thoughts elsewhere, like the courtyard gardens or the reliquary room.

“I feel sad for whoever is his padawan.”

“Master Tarre doesn’t have a padawan.”

Soroya looks at her, brows knit together. “I thought all Knights had to take a padawan.”

“Many do, not all of them. But Master Tarre has not had a padawan for many years.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Julla admits.

It’s Soroya’s turn to fall quiet. “But he’s had a padawan before?” Julla nods. A chill rises over Soroya’s arms and she shivers. She cannot imagine Master Tarre being a master to any padawan.

* * *

A G E T E N

“THERE IS NO EMOTION, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.” It is the third time that they are reciting the Code back to Master Bi-Oni-Kadi. She paces a line in front of them, her hands clasped behind her back.

Once the collective voices of the clan fades, she pauses, here eyes shut in peace. The long, dented expanse of her forehead rises towards the ceiling, casting a partial shadow over her features. Her robes swish as she turns to face them. “Very good. The Code is your guide in all things: your emotions, your actions, your beliefs. You must take these words to heart and impress them upon your memory. The Code is a part of who you are as members of the Order.”

Shifting her legs slightly to relieve the pressure from her ankles, Soroya keeps her hands clasped in her lap. She looks to her right at Cor, who only gives her the barest glance before looking back at Master Bi-Oni-Kadi. They all sit next to one another, legs tucked under their knees. The pale cream-color of their youngling robes has since been replaced by pale gray, an indicator that they are soon to undertake the trial of the Gathering.

Soroya smooths her fingers over the fabric of her pants and listens to the lilting cadence of Master Bi-Oni-Kadi’s voice. She herself recites the Code once more, drawing out each sentence as if it were her last breath. “Understand that non-attachment does not mean lack of compassion. Jedi believe that all life is precious and it is our sworn duty to uphold, serve, and protect all peoples from all worlds.”

“Master,” Khy breaks through the wavering silence. “Do the Jedi believe that emotion leads to bad decisions?”

“Not so directly, young one. To be unattached, to be untethered, is to be free. It is a freedom of the mind, body, and soul. In this, Jedi are able to see things clearly as they are without the interference of bias or judgement.” She steeples her fingers and looks among the other clanmates. “There is no passion, there is serenity,” she recites. “Another crucial element of the Code. Passion is the scion of emotion, and it is unruly and unpredictable. The two are intertwined in the heart and are capable of suffocating the mind.”

Soroya listens, tight-lipped. Master Onawa frequently offers her counsel on schooling her emotions. Emotion, overwhelming emotion, is a barrier to meditation and thus a barrier to the Force. And that brutal tide of emotion gives way to passion, turning one blind to the clear efficacy of the Force. Through cleansing, one can learn to let go of this heady rush of unbidden emotions and find peace. Like meditation, letting go of her innermost feelings has proven difficult. Stern confrontations with Master Tarre leave tears prickling at her eyes and any passing look from Master Naalosh sets her alight with joy. But these are the emotions that she is to quash and let go of. To completely give herself up to the Force.

Carefully, she raises her hand, fingertips shaking. Master Bi-Oni-Kadi nods to her, silent permission to ask her question. “Master.” She licks her lips. “Are we meant to be unfeeling? If we are to let go of our emotions and forsake any passions, how can we be empathetic?”

“Not at all. It is in our nature to be empathetic and compassionate; it is a part of the Code. Rather, it is a. . . guide, to guard our emotions well and soothe the heat of passions before they consume us. It is a call to be mindful of our inner and outer selves. One cannot make rational decisions when claimed by the fire of love or under the cold influence of hate. Remember serenity, young one. It is the feeling that provides the utmost clarity to our actions and our thoughts.”

Inner and outer selves. Soroya lets her shoulders drop, Master Bi-Oni-Kadi’s words ringing hollow in her ears. Perhaps that is what has eluded her for so long: the ignorance of her inner heart and mind. Caught off-guard by her own emotions, struck by immediate passions without warning that they lie in wait. She clasps her hands and looks up at Master Bi-Oni-Kadi. Like the other Masters, her face is placid and unreadable. A strength, Soroya thinks, when dealing with politicians, common folk, even spicers like the Hutts.

She breathes deeply, and a soft calm spreads over her chest.

IN THE HEIGHT of nighttime, Soroya lays awake. She hears Julla’s soft breaths from the other side of the room, her friend already claimed by sleep. With her hands clasped over her chest, Soroya turns her gaze up to the ceiling. The weight of the past four years sits heavy on her, stifling her breathing. From her first memories of the Créche, blurry and fragmented, to today’s most recent lessons, the words and teachings of the Masters hang over her head.

Come first light, she and her clanmates will depart on the  _ Crucible _ for the ice world of Ilum, where they will perform the ritual Gathering. Four years, and still she feels unprepared. No matter the kind words that Master Naalosh offered her that evening, no matter Master Onawa’s praise that she has improved over the years—she still doubts herself.

She sits upright and tucks her knees against her chest. Soroya wraps her arms around herself, trying to curl as small as she feels. She looks to the thin window overlooking part of the Federal District and she feels smaller still. Against the backdrop of Coruscant, she is infinitely smaller. A blip on the planet’s surface; she is nothing compared to the towering transparisteel and duracrete structures that dominate Coruscant.

“You’re worried.” Julla’s voice startles her and she looks across the room at her friend, who’s now sitting upright.

“I am.” Julla is too perceptive; she would know if Soroya lied.  _ Not perceptive _ , she thinks,  _ empathetic. _ “The Gathering is a sacred right. We must face it before we progress onwards with our training.”

“Yes. What are you worried for?” She tilts her head to one side, lekku falling over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. Everything.” Soroya curls her hands over her knees. “Master Yoda said that we will face our greatest fears in the Crystal Caves. That we might even be tempted by the Dark Side. That is what worries me.” It is only part of the truth. The other part is that she is not certain she can face her fears.

“It is to test us. This is only another test, Soroya. We will pass this one as we have passed all the others.”

She grimaces, thinking of Master Q’Lor’s test on galactic senators that she had to take twice over.

“Perhaps your fears will take the shape of an archival holocron, since you loathe writing reports so much.”

Soroya manages a smile. Julla is a master of lifting her spirits.

LIGHT BREAKS OVER the horizon, dappled by Coruscanti spires and towers. Soroya and her clanmates stand shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs. In only a few short hours, they will be standing afoot the surface of Ilum, lightyears away from Coruscant. Since leaving their homeworlds, they’ve never left the Federal District, let alone the planet.

A clutch of Republic guards frames the ramp leading into the belly of the  _ Crucible _ , eyes forwards at attention. Only the younglings, Master Yoda, and a select retinue are permitted to undertake the journey to Ilum. Deep into the Unknown Regions, the planet’s location is known only to the Order and the coordinates are kept well-guarded and secret.

Through an arched doorway, Master Yoda approaches the clan. He holds his cane in his hand but does not use it. His claws click on the ground as he walks and as he grows near, Soroya can hear him humming under his breath. A smiles twitches across her lips and she turns her gaze frontwards, staring impassively at the ship before her.

“Good morning, younglings.”

“Good morning, Master Yoda,” they respond in unison.

He stands in front of them now, tri-fingered hands resting over the nubby head of his cane. He looks at each of them in turn, brows drawn together as he studies them. “Mm. An important journey you make today. Such is one many Jedi before you have made. The next step of many, this is.” He nods his head sagely and turns towards the boarding ramp. “Come. Time to go, it is.”

One by one, the clan follows Master Yoda up the inclined ramp. Soroya is the last to approach the ship, eyes wandering over the battered hull streaked with age. At the top of the ramp, she turns to look over her shoulder. She drinks in the warm colors of the shipyard bay, as plain and unadorned as many rooms in the Temple are. She watches Jedi and their padawans walking along the upper balconies, hoping that soon she will be just like them. She binds every detail of the Temple to memory, hoping that this will not be the last time she lays her eyes on it.

As the last Republic guard boards the ship, the ramp slides into the belly of the  _ Crucible _ and the port door begins to close. A strip of light falls across Soroya’s face, setting the Temple bay aflame. The door clangs shut, and the Temple disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaahhhh ok great!
> 
> hey huge thanks to my beta, Hannah, for all of her hard work going over this CHUNK of a first chapter. she is my everything and i am so lucky that she reads this stuff and edits it. literally, a godsend. thank you!!!
> 
> yeah ok cool! that's the first one. still working on the second one, eek! it's going to be about as long (if not longer than) this chapter. so like..,,another 10k. lmao. should be out in a few weeks. time is fake. nothing is real anymore. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this! i tried to be as accurate/realistic (lmao) to the world as possible. there's only so much detail i can get from previously published star wars pieces and from watching like...,,every piece of digital media i can lol. so yeah. thanks!! tune in next time for more stuff!!


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